It's All Wrong, But It's All Right
by MildredHelper
Summary: Grace reflects on her unconventional journey of self discovery. Cross-posted on AO3.


After living a lie for eight decades, Grace Hanson was finally living her truth and the life she had dreamed of for so long. She was well aware that eighty years was longer than some lifetimes, and it had been absolute agony for her. She finally allowed herself to admit that she loved Frances Bergstein. She was _in_ love with Frances Bergstein. She loved everything about her. She loved her paint splattered overalls and the way her toes were always like ice cubes against her legs every night, even when they were lying under a thick blanket. She loved her unpredictability and even her obnoxious throat singing at ungodly hours. She loved the way she wrote in her imaginary journal and the way she became so excited for simple things like a local art show or seeing a funny looking dog.

Grace knew that if her parents were alive, they would hate her. They would call her unnatural and unfit. They would try to change her. They would see to it that she was "fixed" or they would disown her. She was made aware of that from a young age.

She had idolized her great aunt Pat. Pat was in her forties, had short hair, wore suspenders and trousers, and did not have a husband or children. Her good friend, Maggie, lived with her and was always so much fun to be around. They were polar opposites. Maybe it was just how tomboyish Pat was that made Maggie seem almost overly feminine, dainty, and refined. It wasn't until years later that Grace would realize they were in love. She had loved spending time with them until her parents forbade Pat from ever seeing her again.

"She's a disgrace. She's a horrible influence on Grace. She's well, you know…" Her mother had told her father loudly enough that Grace could hear her.

She didn't know what "you know" meant, but she sure as hell knew she didn't want to be it.

So she lied. She wore dresses and makeup. She went on dates with boys. She told Robert she loved him. She pretended to mean it. She married him and bore his children. She made his meals. She pretended that she was happy. She took his mother shopping and dealt with her harsh criticisms as if it were her job. In a way, it was. Her job was to blend in, to be as normal and inconspicuous as possible. If anyone caught her looking at a woman's lips or cleavage too long, she just knew that she would be found out. She would be exposed for the fraud that she was. So she continued the act. She continued it after both of her parents were dead and buried. She continued it after her husband left her for a man. She continued it until Frankie Bergstein called her on it.

She had been drinking all day and was feeling particularly vulnerable. When she felt vulnerable, she attacked. Her tongue could cut. It could wound. It could kill.

When Frankie came into the room, she instantly snapped at her. "You look like shit," she said. "What have you been doing? Fucking a convict in your studio?"

"That would make you jealous, wouldn't it?" Frankie quirked a brow.

"I...I what are you talking about?! Why would I be jealous of someone who gets to sleep with you, Frankie? That's ridiculous!"

"Whatever you say, Grace," she said and snuggled up next to her on the couch.

"What-what are you doing?" She asked.

"Just getting comfy," she smiled and wrapped her arms around the other woman.

"I...stop, Frankie! You're smothering me!"

"Stop pretending, Grace. I know you like me. You have for years. You just won't admit it. I see the way you look at me. You think I don't know what I do to you?"

Grace thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. How did she know? She had been so careful, so in control. Sure, the alcohol caused her to let her guard down every once in awhile but she never thought that it was enough to give away her true identity.

"I know what you're insinuating, Frances, but it isn't true. I don't know why you'd even go there. That's crazy!"

"Is it, Grace?" She murmured as she gently started to kiss the other woman's neck.

"It...it is," she breathed but made no attempt to stop Frankie.

Eventually Frankie's lips trailed up to her mouth and she placed a soft kiss there. It's as if something awoke within Grace, something primal. Instantly, she deepened the kiss, her hands running through her roommate's long hair as her tongue explored every inch of her mouth. "Fuck," she whimpered as Frankie's hands found the buttons on her blouse and slowly began to unbutton them. When her blouse was open, exposing her heaving chest, Frankie paused.

"Is this something you want, Grace?" She whispered.

"God Frances-Frankie, you-you know I do. I don't know how you fucking knew, but-but you did." She felt tears fill her eyes, and she swallowed hard.

"Shh," Frankie put a finger to her lips before she kissed her, first on the mouth, and then on her forehead and cheeks, on her closed eyelids and the base of her neck. "Let me take care of you," she breathed in her ear.

"Please," she replied. "I need this. I-I need you." God it was hard for her to be vulnerable. It was hard for her to admit that she wanted to be with another woman, especially Frankie. It was hard, but it was what she wanted, what she had been denying herself all these years.

"I know," Frankie nodded and a smile came across her face. "I've been waiting so long to hear you say it." Her own eyes welled up, and she had to look away from Grace.

"Hey, don't cry," she said and tilted Frankie's chin back towards her. "C'mon, baby. Show me a good time."

Grace chuckled to herself as she thought back on that first eye-opening experience.

When Robert and Sol had first left them, and they moved in together, she recalled telling her beautiful, heartbroken Frankie that she would make new memories. Her eyes scanned the living room until they focused on the framed photographs of the two of them. The first picture was a selfie that Frankie had insisted they take after moving into the beach house together. The next few pictures were more intimate: a close up of Frankie holding both of her hands in one of her own, an image of the couple sprawled out on the floor laughing, their faces just inches apart, a shot of the two kissing on the beach from their engagement photoshoot, and there was plenty of room left on the mantle for their wedding photos that were to come.

Grace had never felt so happy before in all her life. She loved her daughters, and she did love being a mother to them, but being a mother was something she had felt she had to do. It was her duty as a woman to bear children and raise them.

Loving Frankie was different. It was a privilege, an honor. There was nothing forced about it; there was no sense of duty at all. She wanted to be with her every second of the day, even when she drove her absolutely crazy. She wanted to be there through the good times, the bad times, and every blissfully average time in between. She only wished it hadn't taken her so long to admit it.


End file.
